Les Fleurs du Mal
by Anna Scathach
Summary: He didn't want to know. He didn't want to feel. He was supposed to be a cold, heartless, unforgiving, cruel man, in short a Death Eater. A Death Eater didn't have feelings.
1. Dawn

_A/N: This is the result of a rather random and crazy bunch of ideas I have from time to time. As I think I'll never use them as plot bunnies for another fic, they actually fit into a concept that you'll be soon reading... Thanks to the lovely SugaryTears for her encouragement and to HackerMuffin for being the best friend one could wish for._

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part One – Dawn  
**_Never again will a sun rise on this sky… (Sturm und Drang)_

He watched the sun rise slowly on the deep dark midwinter sky. Dawn was always so … peaceful, so loving. It presented peace, love and eternal happiness even to those who didn't know what these words meant, how these words felt. How did it feel indeed? He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to feel. He was supposed to be a cold, heartless, unforgiving, cruel man, in short a Death Eater. A Death Eater didn't have feelings.

Dawn also reminded him of all the people who'd never see the sunlight again. All the people the others and himself had killed. Thousands of innocent victims who'd never wake up from their eternal sleep. He felt guilt rise up inside of him, although he wasn't supposed to feel anymore.

He watched the sunrise. It hurt and it healed. Nature was neither good nor bad, it was just there. The interpretation was up to the observer.

Love and guilt.

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_A/N: Please review and tell me what you think!_

_Anna Scathach_

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	2. Red

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A/N: So here's the second part to my random thoughts from a Death Eaters PoV. Please leave a review!

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I'm up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Two- Red  
**_It is the End of all Hope to lose the childhood faith… (Nightwish)_

A flash of color during the battle. The sun was shining, just for a second, on red hair. Burgundy red hair, cascading down a soldier's back, was highlighted. He couldn't help staring.

It reminded him of different times. He'd been a boy then. Still at school, he'd been utterly fascinated by Ginevra Weasley's hair. It had been- and still was- beautiful. Unlike her brothers', Ginny's hair was an astonishing shade of red, and his hand had itched to touch it. He had wished to let his hand just once caress Ginevra Weasley's hair, to find out if it was really as soft as it looked. But of course he hadn't. He'd only been a boy, after all.

Another flash of color from the same direction. The sun was shining, just for a second, on crimson blood. It rapidly cascaded down a tortured and beaten body, not to mention probably raped. Blood was pooling at the woman's feet. He could see her chest painfully rising with what he thought would be her last breath. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Even in death, she was still heavenly beautiful. Such a divine creature shouldn't have to die in this stupid war. But then she breathed out, her eyes fell closed, and her body didn't move anymore.

The color red died that day with her bloody body on one of the countless battlefields. She'd just been one death among many. But to him, that day the color red died as well. He would never see something as beautiful again.

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_A/N: Please review! You know you make my day when you do..._

_Anna Scathach_


	3. Sleep

_A/N: So here is the third chapter. Thanks to SugaryTears again for your encouragement! Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. Not mine, of course!_

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Three: Sleep  
**_Ever Dream of me… (Nightwish)_

Tossing and turning in his bed, he slowly opened his eyes. Sweat rattled down his face, and his whole body was shaking.

Every night in his dreams, they haunted him. All the faceless innocents, the uncountable spectres of the children he had killed, the women he had raped and the men he had tortured haunted his dreams. When the long-awaited sleep finally came, it was always filled with those nightmares.

He couldn't forget their faces. Their pleading, their tears, their fighting against the inevitable, and, finally, the look in their eyes when they died, he saw it all again. A thousand times, a million times, his nightmares repeated their faces, begging for mercy, dying.

He couldn't forget their bodies. When they fell back, hit by his curse. When their eyes closed for the last time. When they became motionless on the ground, slowly going cold. When he looked at them one last time to make sure they were dead. The image of all these corpses, innocent or not, bloodied faces and bodies, torn clothing, pained expressions, sometimes resignation evident in their eyes or the way they lay on the dirty battlefield grounds.

But there was only one victim he saw every night. One woman of an unforgettable beauty. Ginevra Weasley. Although it hadn't been him who'd killed her, he somehow felt responsible for it. Young and inexperienced, he'd believed himself in love with her once, a long time ago. And the next time he saw her, she was fighting a lost battle, on a rainy day at some remote battlefield. Then he saw her fall down. Every night, she came back to torment him in his nightmares.

He turned again and closed his eyes, hoping to escape her that night. But as soon as he fell asleep, all those innocent victims were back. They would haunt him forever. For eternity.

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_A/N: So now, since this is the third chapter, I'd like to have some reviews... so far SugaryTears is the only one. Please, please leave a review, anything ;)_


	4. Innocence

_A/N: So here's the next part. Enjoy, and review, please!_

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Four – Innocence  
**_Without the innocence, the cross is only iron, hope is only an illusion… (Nightwish)_

He remembered his childhood. Good old times. The wizarding world had been calm and happy then. He had been a lonely child, true, but he'd been happy.

War had made people lose innocence so easily. Most Hogwarts students had been forced to choose a side, to fight. Only a rare few willingly lost their innocence, most simply followed their leaders, and some even tried to fight the inevitable. However pure one's soul might have been, war had corrupted them all.

Once, they had been children, carefree. They hadn't known what waited for them out in the real world. Pure souls went out to fight for the light side. But, scarcely skilled in combat, they had seen what human nature truly was without being ready for it. Nobody could have been prepared for that.

Blood. Torture. Rape. Death. Corpses. Battlefields. Mourning. These children hadn't known human cruelty until then. During the uncounted battles, many had paid a high price. Those were now dead. Even those who came back had died in a way. Everything they'd believed in had been shattered to a million minuscule pieces, tainted by blood, sweat and dirt.

Boys had seen their fiancées raped; wives had watched their husbands being tortured; fathers had seen their children bleeding; best friends had watched their friends being killed. The survivors were mourning. He did not know how they still found the strength to continue fighting. But they did. And so the bleeding, the raping, the torturing and the killing continued.

All children had lost their innocence during this war. Even he, though most people assumed he hadn't been innocent to begin with. Once, they all had been innocent. But they weren't anymore, and nobody would ever be truly innocent again.

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_A/N: Please review! I've planned the whole fic, but I need inspiration for only one chapter. Any ideas? Thanks._

_Anna Scathach_

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	5. Freedom

_A/N: Here's the fifth chapter. Enjoy, and please review!_

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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Les Fleurs du Mal

**Part Five – Freedom  
**_Birds in cages dream of flying. Free birds fly._

The man was flying high above the clouds. On his broom, he felt far, far away from the earth and all his problems.

Ever since he was little, flying had been inhaling pure freedom to him. He used to get away from his abusive father and his unloving mother for days by just flying wherever he wanted. No matter what punishment had awaited him afterwards, it had always been worth it. Always.

And now that he was grown up, he still felt the same sense of freedom when riding a broom he'd felt so many years previously. He could forget all about the killing down there, about the tasks he was forced to accomplish by a tyrannical leader he hated and about the pain it caused him to see all those people die at his hands, at his mercy.

The freedom he felt in the skies never lasted, though. In Voldemort's Army, freedom was only a mere illusion that weakened from day to day. Freedom was an ideal, a desire nobody really knew anymore. Freedom had partly died with Albus Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower. Freedom's other part had died deep within the people's hearts, slowly, but steadily. And with the freedom, the will to fight had ceased as well.

Freedom is only an illusion these days. But who wouldn't close his eyes from reality to forget his own imprisonment for a while?

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_A/N: I thought I'd try a new method. If nobody but SugaryTears reviews, I won't update... Please review! ;)_

_Anna Scathach_


	6. Peace

_A/N: Okay, so threats don't work. Not a single review for the last chapter. Well, I am sick and thereforee at home a lot, so I had some time to finish this..._

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim. By the way, the quote is from an awesome French book I read, called La Quête D'Ewilan by Pierre Bottero. I don't know if there is an English translation, but check it out... really good Fantasy triology._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Six – Peace  
**_Maybe man is fundamentally allergic to peace? (P. Bottero)_

He broke down. In the middle of the battlefield, he simply broke down. His exhaustion was both psychically and physically. The feared Death Eater couldn't stand it anymore.

Human's world consists of an endless series of wars. From the Stone Age, the ancient Greek, Roman and Egyptian cultures to the two World Wars of the 20th century and now to Voldemort's war. Rare are the short periods of peace – during the Roman Peace, during Napoleon's era for example, in short these periods of peace were linked to armed conquests.

The human race is seemingly not made to be peaceful. Too brutal, too cruel is human nature to allow such status for a long time. Maybe, just maybe, man is allergic to peace.

Oh, how he wished for peace, no matter to what conditions. Peace… freedom… no more fighting… Everybody knows, though, these ideas are just dreams, just illusions. Peace is a word invented by humans to describe what they can never achieve themselves for real, only in their imagination.

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_A/N: I've already written the next four chapters, so please leave me review! You know you make my day when you do!_

_Anna Scathach_


	7. Dreams

_A/N: Here's the seventh chapter for you! Scuba told me it was hard to see where I am going with this fic, so, everybody, please remember: This IS a series of drabbles, and they ARE random, but I hope sometime you'll see where I'm going..._

_Disclaimer:_ _I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Seven – Dreams  
**_Oh how I long for soothing rain, all I wish is to dream again… (Nightwish)_

Once, when he'd still been a child, he'd had many dreams. Dreams, as trivial as a child's dreams were; dreams, as even adults can't think of. Dreams, of such a colorful and melodious variety.

Dreams, of being independent from his father. Dreams of growing up. Sometimes even dreams of killing his own father.

Dreams, of being accepted. Dreams, of getting better marks then the mudblood Granger. Dreams, of touching beautiful Ginny Weasley's hair.

But as these things go, dreams aren't reality.

And so, one day, when he suddenly grew up, he realized they wouldn't come true. They didn't, indeed. Dreams of a cursed, of a haunted man like him never came true.

Yet every night he wished for these dreams. He wished for an island of freedom, peace and sleep, for he couldn't forget seeing those images. Hate - fight - torture - rape – death - corpses-

He longed to dream again. But, still as foolish as a child, one fateful day he'd sworn never to dream again. And so he would never in his life dream again, would never find the peace he longed for.

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_A/N: I've giveen up trying to convince you. Please review!_

_Anna Scathach_


	8. Kitten

_A/N: Here's the next chapter. Enjoy, and review!_

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Eight – Kitten  
**_Of all God's creatures there is only one that cannot be made the slave of the lash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with a cat it would improve man, but it would deteriorate the cat. (M. Twain)_

Sitting down on a stone, he closed his eyes. He'd just taken part in one of the Dark Lord's feared raids. He couldn't forget the image of a burning house, and the desperate mewling of a kitten.

He closed his eyes, and remembered.

One sunny day at Hogwarts, he's seen that great oaf Weasley's little sister sitting by the lake all on her own. Her brilliant red hair had glinted in the sunlight. But, being the Slytherin he was, he couldn't resist that opportunity to taunt her.

As she'd lain there in the grass, the sun shining on her face, highlighting her hair, he'd thought she looked like a kitten. Peaceful, sleepy, cute.

But when he had approached her, she'd opened her eyes. The sleepy look had been gone from her face, replaced by eyes that seemed to be made of steel. Her whole body'd tensed – she'd looked ready to attack him then. She'd resembled a lioness, observing her prey, beautiful, strong and wild. A fiery lioness, uncontrolled and cruel.

She'd looked at him with those hard eyes, slowly flexing the muscles in her arms. And the insults he'd heard afterwards, well, he would certainly not have expected them from a little girl, much less Weasley's sister.

Oh well, he remembered, that day he'd learned once and for all that kitten got claws.

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_A/N: Hey readers, please pity alonely writer and leave some reviews! Pretty please review!_

_Anna Scathach_


	9. Tattoo

_A/N: Here's the 9th chapter of what was originally called Thoughts. Which means the end is approaching... As to the name changement, Les Fleurs du Mal is the name of a collection of poetry by the French poet Baudelaire. After reading the title, I was already thinking about changing the name, and reading some of the poems fully convinced me; it just works for the general idea, plus it's a beautiful name. By the way, its English translation can be both the Flowers of Evil, and the Flowers of Pain. So, sorry, the new story title isn't mine. On with the story, now! And please review..._

_Disclaimer: I solemnly ewar I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Nine – Tattoo**  
_The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can't wake up. (D.H. Lawrence)_

Pale skin. White and flawless, almost like a child's.

But, alas, it wasn't supposed to be. Now a snake was scarring his skin. An ugly black tattoo, representing the snakelike Voldemort. Representing devotion.

He'd come to hate that tattoo. Once, a long time ago, he'd longed for the power he'd thought it would give to him. Today, though, it was ugly, it hurt and it connected him to a cause he had nightmares about.

What a simple tattoo could do to him. The snake had hurt him often. He remembered the burning, the searing pain, the blood. That snake meant torture, not being allowed to think for himself.

If only he'd known when he'd been young. But he'd been young, full of passion and hate. Of course he hadn't thought about the future. No child ever did.

But he hadn't been supposed to be free. Every day, the tattoo on his pale skin reminded him of what could have been. The tattoo reminded him of all he'd lost with his initiation. That tattoo symbolized all the wrong decisions he'd ever made, only one false step had been enough for him to fall.

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_A/N: Please review! You know you make my day when you do..._

_Anna Scathach_


	10. Daffodil

_A/N: Here's the tenth chapter for you. Thanks to SugaryTears, who suggested Narcissa as a chapter idea. Go read it, and please review!_

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Ten –Daffodil  
**_Flowers are without hope. Because hope is tomorrow and flowers have no tomorrow. (A. Porchia)_

It was the beginning of spring. Birds were chanting their everlasting praise of nature, trees were greening, flowers were growing. Overall, an impression of happiness lay in the air.

He didn't see any of that. Happiness and beauty were things a Death Eater didn't need. But then he saw the flowers. Daffodils. Narcissus.

Narcissa. His mother. When he thought of her, instead of the happiness he should have seen, he saw a broken woman. He saw her, eyes so sad, at the window, and he knew she'd been wishing to fly with the wind. Longing for freedom, her strength had been broken so early by the man that called himself his father.

Although Narcissa had always seemed so distant, he knew she'd loved him. Ever since his childhood, his mother had protected him from his father. When she could. She'd probably been the only one that had loved him.

Without a conscious thought, a small smile appeared on his lips. But if there had been somebody to see it, he would also have seen it didn't last longer than a second.

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_A/N: Three more chapters to go... it's all coming to an end soon. Please review!_

_Anna Scathach_


	11. Heart

_A/N: This is the 11th chapter of Les Fleurs du Mal, two more two go and then it's over... I can't believe it! The Heart-B...-D... themes for the last three chapters are borrowed from Cornelia Funke's Ink Triology._

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Eleven – Heart  
**_The music flows because it longs For The Heart I Once Had… (Nightwish)_

Fingers were dancing on the piano keys, nearly invisible, caressing each and every tone. The music was flowing out of the piano. Hitting like a wave, dark as night, unforgiving like revenge. But also soft as a lock of shining hair, dreamy like the clouds, and as beautiful as nature itself.

Sometimes he thought fighting improved his piano skills. But now he knew he played to release all the emotions, all the hate and cruelty he could tell nobody of, yet that was there all the time. He smiled. Those were the first tones of Chopin's Nocture, his favourite at the moment.

And then he closed his eyes, and let his fingers on the keys tell his story.

Maybe that music showed he still had a heart. Once, when he'd been normal, a human like all others, he'd had a heart, beating and caring. But war had taught him to keep it hidden beneath cruelty and anger. Maybe he'd lost it, a long time ago. Maybe he'd also lost it when he saw Ginny Weasley die. Maybe he simply didn't care. Maybe it was safer that way.

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_A/N: Please review!_

_Anna Scathach_


	12. Blood

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A/N: I actually got a review on the last chapter. Thanks, scuba!

_Now for you, my lovely but rather silent readers, the 12th chapter, only one to go until it's over. And then I'll be finally rid of this bloody..._

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim._

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**Les Fleurs du Mal**

**Part Twelve – Blood  
**_I'm bleeding and screaming. Am I too lost to be saved, am I too lost? (Evanescence)_

Blood, on the dirty ground. Blood, spilling out of several wounds on tortured bodies. Blood, on his hands. Blood.

After leaving the battlefield, he could still smell it, could still see it, and hear them moaning in agony. And even though he scrubbed his hands off several times, in a desperate attempt to clean himself from his faults and sins, he still felt dirty.

He saw them die, knowing it was him who killed. He saw them bleeding, knowing it was him who wounded. He saw the blood, and couldn't take it anymore.

Then came the day when he was hit by a spell. Sectumsempra, he heard, and smelled the blood before he felt the stinging pain.

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_A/N: Sorry, you'll have to wait til next week. __Please review, anyway!_

_Anna Scathach_


	13. Death

_A/N: Hey my faithful readers! This is it, the final chapter, chapter 13, delivered to you on Friday 13th (and I swear I didn't plan it, honestly). So go on, and enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim. As for the rightful owners, ask JK Rowling, Baudelaire, Cornelia Funke and the respective owners of the quotes mentioned in each chapter._

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Les Fleurs du Mal

**Part Thirteen – Death  
**_… et rendez-vous sur l'île d'Avalon… (Manau)_

Then came the day when he was hit by a spell. Sectumsempra, he heard, and smelled the blood before he felt the stinging pain.

Blood was spilling on his clothes, flowing rapidly, pooling next to him. He fell hard, only half conscious, on another victim. Maybe that one had been innocent. He didn't care anymore.

All he could feel was his life rapidly leaving his body in a stream of crimson liquid. His vision was cloudy. He closed his eyes and sighed for the last time. He lifted a shaky hand to his face, touching one of the wounds.

Then he felt darkness closing in on him, and smiled. His father would have been furious at how he gave into the pain, but that hardly mattered anymore. All that mattered was that it was indeed finally over.

The man sighed, his breath left his body for the last time in a painful moan. The blood ceased to flow. Crimson was everywhere. He easily fell into it and forgot himself. Forgot pain, forgot love, forgot death, forgot life. And smiled.

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_A/N: You did know that ending before, right? It should be kind of obvious, even for those who didn't get the Heart - Blood - Death reference..._

_I only have one thing to say: Please review!_

_And watch out for my next D/G fic that should be on tomorrow... it's a happier one than this._

_Anna Scathach_


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